


Peaceful Days

by Flailingkittylover



Series: Aruani Happy Ending Imagination Land [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adoption, Bonding, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Gabi is a brat, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by scene in chapter 132, Manga Spoilers, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flailingkittylover/pseuds/Flailingkittylover
Summary: Times of peace never existed for long when either of them were children. For Falco and Gabi, Armin and Annie resolve to try to give the kids back the peaceful days they missed.Non-linear ficlets of family shenanigansCh.4: Armin’s dreams are filled with nothing but nightmares and the bite of fire.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart, Gabi Braun/Falco Grice
Series: Aruani Happy Ending Imagination Land [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935688
Comments: 64
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I need salve for my ch. 132 wounds and I figured I'd share it T__T These four are so precious. Thanks @Cib for referring me to the idea! Now my brain is infested with chapters for these four ahhhhhh
> 
> Edit: this fic assumes a near wipe-out of the Alliance/civvies at Fort Salva (Reiner, Pieck, Eren, and Connie included).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this fic on any outlet other than AO3 website; please note that it is there without my permission. This is tantamount to theft.  
> I wrote this for free.

Armin has often sought refuge within the forests but Annie doesn’t want a house there. _Too many memories_...is what Annie said and that’s all Armin needs to know. The ocean...has left a bitter taste in his mouth—he’d prefer not to have a home where an old dream was tainted. 

After analyzing his wants more, he finds a two-story cottage in a valley where sunflowers bounce back and forth from the wind and the water wheel in the nearby river supplies added electricity for the turbine in the cellar. _“This place can't be serious”_ was Annie’s snort when they arrived, but to Armin, this new setting is relaxing. Housing themselves in this valley where snow-drizzled mountains stand tall in the distance and green fields encircle them has Armin realizing he’d rather be here than anywhere else—he’s glad he made the choice he did.

“I still don’t understand why you gave up the title of Commander…” Gabi who walks through the threshold after Annie murmurs, “Isn’t your system like Marley? Your rank would get you a house in the nice part of the city, right? You’d probably get big perks too like the best food and transport.”

“The city has become too loud and crowded,” Armin answers, “I already didn’t like living in it before and it’s only gotten worse now. Jean knows that and I’m confident he’ll do a more than fine job as Commander. Besides, living here where it’s quiet and away from everything...it just felt more fitting for both of us.” 

Annie—who inspects the perimeter of the long living room and kitchen—swivels her attention to Armin then flees. Remorse bleeds into otherwise focused pale-blue, “This place _is_ nice, you know,” she emphasizes, “What I said earlier…” 

“It’s fine,” Armin smiles sincerely at Annie to assure her he’s not offended by her blunt comments—that’s just one of many qualities he appreciates her for, “This place will take some getting used to but if you don’t like something, I can work on it. The other towns aren’t too far off for supplies and cars have made it far faster to travel now.”

Annie’s wilting shoulder posture adopts the regret housed in her eyes, “I wouldn’t want you to do that…” 

“I don’t _mind_ doing it. I haven’t tinkered around with anything for a while. Besides, I need more garden soil for the backyard. “Electrifying excitement shoots through Armin. His small smile uplifts higher, “You guys want to see?”

Falco shares his puzzled gaze with Armin, “Backyard?”

Armin’s head tips to the side, “You haven’t seen one before?”

“The ghettos in the Liberio internment camp were pretty cramped,” Gabi answers for Falco, “We were lucky to see areas which didn’t have much industry or buildings.”

Sympathy breaches Armin’s expression. He didn’t have much but his Shiganshina home allowed its residents a small backyard to play in or put up laundry. Turns out, these children were robbed of even that.

“Our garden is not as extravagant as the government courtyards you’ve seen but I’d like to think it’s pretty on its own. I think you guys will like it.” The glimmer of childish wonder in Falco’s eyes lights a fire in Armin’s chest. His incisors show with his smile, “Follow me!” 

Wood boards creak as they travel through the wide kitchen to the white-painted backdoor of the house. When the door opens, the greeting sun is so blinding, Armin thinks the kid’s hitching breath is because of the sunlight stabbing their eyes.

_“Wow.”_

As Armin’s vision clears, Gabi sprints ahead on the cobblestone path with Falco not far behind her. She jumps on the second bar of a wood fence which blocks entry into a staircase of red and blue flowers then hops to the other side where Armin hoped to grow either pumpkins or corn. Meanwhile, Falco is captured by the same object Armin was—a tunneled archway where vines of pink-blossomed flowers snake along the curve and length of the thin steel bars. Gabi seems to lose interest in the flowers and empty squares pending planted crops quickly; she runs to the far side of the grassy backyard where the river rests and twists and turns for miles ahead. The speed of the current is laughably slow and Armin figures the water wheel attached to the house is for decoration now since technology from the mainland has been adopted in urban and rural areas. Armin follows the kids and stands at their side in a spot on the riverbank which is shadowed by a cauliflower-shaped tree sitting all by it’s lonesome. Armin makes a mental note for the future—this would be the perfect spot to sit and fish. 

Under his watchful eye, Gabi and Falco inch closer to the river’s edge, admiring the peaceful _plup_ of rushing water and watching tadpoles squirm away when the two dip their hands in to touch them. Armin has seen Liberio, has seen the poor conditions the internment zone imposed on Eldians—these children must have barely seen a potted plant before let alone a garden or backyard.

“This entire place is ours and you two can stay here for as long as you like,” A soft, side-smile tugs the end of Armin’s mouth when their attention zips to him. Judging by the width of their eyes, the two kids seem shocked, “And whenever you feel comfortable to go out on your own, you’re more than welcome to visit us.” 

The high smile on Falco’s lips wavers a bit. Skeptical eyes dart to the garden then back to Armin, “We’re already enough trouble as it is. I wouldn’t want to be more of a nuisance to you and—

“You aren’t a nuisance and don’t think Annie thinks you are either. She has...a different way of showing how she cares.”

The young boy’s smile is uncertain albeit appreciative, “Thanks, Armin.” 

Sincerity shines in the brown of Gabi’s eyes and in her small smile, “Thank you.”

Armin nods and backsteps away. He lets the kids play—they are more capable than he ever was when he was their age and he probably would only get in the way if he tried to help them. The retired soldier returns to Annie who scopes out the garden with crossed arms.

“Problem?”

Annie immediately shakes her head, “Just checking out what seeds we’d need when we go into the city,” her forefinger points to the row of empty soil rectangles before her, “I take it this section will be where you’ll put pumpkins and corn?”

Armin beams at Annie—leave it to a person as acutely perceptive as her to tell, “How did you know?”

“...lucky guess.” 

The ex-commander jabs a thumb at the open space at the border of the garden, “I also planned to put an apple tree there. Green apples to be more specific. Did you guess that I would do that too?”

Annie tries too hard to hide when she blushes. It makes Armin want to laugh, “Sounds like something you would do so I can’t say I’m surprised. You already know they’re my favorite.”

“Oh? Are they really? Then I’ll plant two trees!”

Annie’s blush intensifies. A little too frequently, she tries to keep her vision away at him and she does so right now—they haven’t done a very good job of holding each other’s gaze without heating up for the past couple weeks. It must be harder for her to open herself up to vulnerability than him and Armin doesn’t mind that—she’s told him what her upbringing was like. The ex-soldier leans his head until his ear is aimed at the sky, trying to get a peek at her eyes but Annie keeps her concentration away as she explores the rest of the backyard. To Armin, trying to get her to look at him without fleeing afterward has turned into a game and if he has to resort to making goofy faces, so be it. 

_“Hey!”_ Falco’s exclaim has Armin and Annie’s neck snap to the river, _“_ Gabi, stop that!” “You don’t know what’s in the water!”

“I’m just trying to get a better look!” Gabi, whose shoes lay shed on the patchy, green riverbank, has her calves deep in rippling, crystal-blue water, “Look at the _size_ of that fish!”

Armin is not so panicked as Falco—he already knows the water is free of leeches or anything truly worrisome—but as Annie charges forward, Armin realizes he failed to tell her such a fact. 

“ _Gabi,”_ the controlled firmness in Annie’s voice is like a whip and Falco staggers back a little, “Get out of there. We don’t know enough about the river to go swimming in it!”

“I’ll only be a minute!”

_“_ Gabi, _now.”_

“ _After_ a minute, I said!! You guys think I’m going to get hurt by a fish slapping me? I’m probably stronger than when you _both_ were my age!”

An audible noise of frustration resounds in her throat. Right as Annie picks up a foot to peel off her boot, Armin grabs her shoulder, “ _Annie,_ she’ll be okay. I know you're concerned but trust me. I’ve done more than enough research about this place. We need to be more concerned about rodents around the plants than leeches or crocodiles.”

The tell-tale twitch of Annie’s eyebrow returns after she allows her boot to fall from her grip, “I think I’m starting to regret agreeing with you on inviting them here.”

A chuckle reverberates Armin’s chest, “I’m not too used to kids either but after what they’ve been through, they deserve it. Their parents and families are gone and when the world moves on, those kids will get left behind. You and I know what that feels like, Annie.”

Armin is bewitched by how irritation pales Annie’s blue eyes then transforms— heartfelt emotion floods them with an electric-blue hue. Her closing eyelids seal those beautiful things away from him again and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t like that—Annie’s had her eyes closed for too long already.

“...you’re right about that,” Annie exhales deeply, “I guess I’m still getting used to all this. I’m not used to a lot of things...sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” both of his hands brush the silk-smooth strands on the side of her face back, “It’s all an adjustment. We’ll pick it up.”

“I don’t know if that’s actually possible for me or if it’s you being hopelessly optimistic again…”

The pad of Armin’s thumb skids at a leisure pace across Annie’s cheek—it’s one thing he’s always wanted to do when she was so far away, “Guess we’ll find out.” 

At long last, circles harboring calm winter-blue land on Armin. He could stand here and get lost in a gaze he had been robbed of for years but his desire resides elsewhere. His neck bends and Armin’s lips latch with hers. The effects of the kiss do a wonderous thing—the tension in Annie’s neck softens, so much so, she’s almost completely limp in his hands. A pleasant fog washes over his brain as lip-over-lip, they move and Annie follows his lead. They were far more awkward before as there was never a time when he or Annie weren't shaking like leaves when they tried something new but holding her like this has her more relaxed than Armin has ever seen her.

_“Ew! Get a room!!”_

An adrenaline spike halts Armin. Their lips unlatch as they twist their heads to the side— Gabi is in direct line-of-sight of them and paired with her stuck-out tongue is a face scrunched in disgust. She’s also caught the fish she wanted to see up close—a large trout—and the young girl manipulates its fish face by holding its mouth open, forcing the trout to appear shocked. Falco, who stands on the river’s edge with a hand over his embarrassed face, shakes his head.

“Alright...that might get a little annoying down the line,” is Armin’s weak admission.

Annie snorts, “I’ll just give her more chores then. I wanted peaceful days not dealing with a stubborn kid.”

“I don’t think that will work but it’s worth a try.”

“She won’t get dinner if she keeps up the attitude then.”

“...Annie, no need to go that far.”

“Warriors in training had to run with weighted backpacks for _two straight days_ without food. I doubt the regiment was different ten years after I was in training. Believe me, Gabi will be fine. She’s a tough kid. Both of them are.”

The corners of his mouth are by his ears and Annie quickly notices. Pink splotches her cheeks and how she rips her sight away will never stop being entertaining to Armin. 

“They are tough kids. It’s why it makes me happy that you said yes to letting them live with us, Annie,” he pecks her reddened forehead, “I always knew you were kind.”

“...don’t test me.”

“I already did.”

“Don’t _you_ get on my nerves now, Arlert.” 

“I thought that was kind of the deal when we agreed to live with each other…”

Annie grabs his nose with pinched fingers and wags his face side-to-side, “Then don’t be surprised when I return the favor.”

Armin laughs as strong fingers retreat from his nose’s bridge. As Annie walks off, her focus drifts back to plotting out where they will plant crops and flowers. He’s not sure if she hears him or not but he says anyway, “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to.”


	2. Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift from Armin has Falco reflect on a not so distant past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was created for SNKTober2020-Oct. 6th Nostalgia. Man did those topics give me ideas x_x

Now Falco understands what it’s like to be an animal carcass roasting over a fire: it’s blistering _hot._

The young boy’s sleeve wipes the sweat-droplets sliding down his temples. The dry heat isn’t as bad as it was during the battle in the Mid-East but he’s more than uncomfortable as sweat dampens the hair on his nape and dribbles into his eyes. His hands hurt from pulling weeds, his back has a prickling ache. He promised he’d help and he wants to follow through on it; it’s just so _hot_.

A mini yelp escapes Falco as the back of his head is pushed forward. The fabric on his crown is patchy but his sunburned cheeks cool from the new protection of shade. He diverts his eyes up. The brown-straw lip from a gardening cap is hovering over his forehead. Falco glances side-ways.

“You can use that,” Armin smiles above him, “Keep it, if you want. No need to add being too hot on top of a tedious task of pulling weeds. You and Gabi can stop anytime you want too, you know. I don’t want you guys hurting yourselves…”

“We said we wanted to help, so we’ll help,” Falco wipes the sweat running down his nose. He inspects Armin whose bangs are damp and skin is red from exertion, “But I don’t want to take something that’s yours. What about you? You keep telling us to take breaks. Shouldn’t you have this since you’re doing more work than Gabi and me?”

The man shares with Falco a fond side-smile, “I’ll manage. I’m more concerned about you two anyway. The hat suits you, by the way. I think my grandfather might agree.”

Falco itches his wrist which is getting even more sweaty from the gloves he wears, “Why would your grandfather agree?”

A grin rounds Armin’s cheeks. The tip of his finger presses on the scratchy cap and it bounces up when it leaves, “That hat was his. It helped me out a lot when I had to work on a farm in the hot sun before I joined the training corp. I’m trusting you with it now, okay?”

The sun is a stove and Falco’s cheeks must be the burners—he was _not_ this warm before _._ Falco bows his head. Colt would have scolded him for not expressing his appreciation sooner and he’s regretting not doing so, “Thank you, Mr. Arlert.”

Armin awkwardly rubs behind his neck, “Ha, I’m not _that_ old now. But calling me that makes me feel like it! Just call me Armin, Falco. You don’t need to keep up those pleasantries around Annie or me.”

The young boy would much rather not embarrass himself further—he nods with his head down. Armin moves on to the other side of the garden where Annie chops at tree roots which are expanding too close to the square gardens. Falco’s fingers draw circles on the prickly fabric kept over his head.

The last time a hat was shoved on his head, Colt had darted into no man’s land to recover him from a shower of enemy bullets. Hammers felt to have pounded against his temple then and the fatigue is all too memorable. The glove’s rubber on his fingertips tremble against the gardening cap’s lip.

His brother visits him in dreams though Falco wishes he would stay for longer. He’s glad he does not remember his first transformation or the aftermath—he’s not so sure he could take it if he did. He was too dazed to admire Colt’s determination to stand up to Magath back during the war, to ward against further digging into trenches where a machine gun loomed through a cement crease to gun them down. Some days, he wishes he could go back to the before just so he can see Colt smile again.

Behind him, Falco overhears Armin insist, “Annie, _please_ give it to me? It’s too warm out here. I don’t want you to get heat-stroke!”

“I _said_ I’m fine,” is her typical argument. 

Falco turns around. Annie listens to Armin with an axe resting over her shoulder, her bangs hanging in curled, limp strands from hard work in the sun.

“I understand, Annie, but the heat will only get worse and chopping tree roots is only going to worsen chances of fatigue. Want me to do it instead?”

“I’m not frail like glass,” she spins around and there’s a loud _whack_ against one of the thicker tree roots, “I can handle myself. You should know that.”

“I do and I’m not saying you are glass…but I don’t want Falco or Gabi wearing anything more than shorts or a tank-top either because it’s hot and the heat only gets worse as the day goes on. I’m not trying to single you out. I-I’ll even clean it too! So please, may I have your jacket?”

Falco gulps. Annie inclines from her forward slouch, spinning the axe as her stare-off with Armin drags out. The darker side of the boy’s imagination has him think it’s a veiled threat to contemplate if she’ll put it to Armin or not. She _wouldn’t_ though—she can be tough but she isn’t cruel—...he believes. 

Eventually, Annie heaves a sigh. She sets down the polished wood-handle and after grabbing the ends of her hoodie, yanks up her jacket over her head. Annie wears a white undershirt and given the heat, there are damp patches scattered around her underarms and shirt collar. Once the hoodie he’s seen Annie wear for ages is shed, Armin extends a hand. Annie smirks. She wipes the grey fabric around her face, slides it against any damp part of her shoulders and underarms. She tosses the sweat-soaked jacket to Armin.

“ _Fine,_ take it _._ But you better make sure my hoodie smells like daisies when you give that back to me, Armin.”

Falco grimaces whereas Armin laughs; it’s not a forced laugh either—it’s from the bottom of his gut and vocally jovial. He’s still puzzled by them but drawn to the two ex-soldiers nonetheless—they’re more than just interesting people. It’s even stranger when paired with his appreciative smile, Armin tucks a strand of hair behind her ear—Falco has noticed Annie does that when her hair obstructs her vision. It’s odd for him to see this relenting behavior from a Warrior who was preached to be so remorseless and fearless by Magath— _a withdrawn and fearless fighting machine_ was what he remembered Magath telling him about her. 

Then he wonders if it’s truly the sun or just _him._

Armin cups the back of her head and kisses Annie’s strawberry-red forehead. Falco has tried to hug Annie a few times and she’s noticeably skittish; sometimes the hug is simply stiff and awkward. She has reasons for being apprehensive to touch, or so he’s been told. Though with Armin, Falco concludes Annie is different—her posture is as slack as her arms dangling at her sides and her lashes vibrate like she’s inching closer to a deep sleep. His hand slips over her cheek and to Falco’s surprise, Annie anchors him on the side of her face with her own hand, intertwines their fingers together. Heat sizzles his cheeks when Annie tilts her chin up and Armin’s forehead taps against hers. 

Then _those_ things move. 

Ice-consumed spheres dart to him and in time with Annie’s eyes widening, Falco jerks in his spot on the grass. She rips away from Armin, waves the taller man off while she grabs the axe and resumes her previous task at hacking away at tree roots. When Armin alternates his attention to Falco, the young boy peers down—he didn’t mean to ruin a moment...he was just surprised. Annie doesn’t let her feelings show too often but Armin seems to be able to decipher them well. Falco wonders if he’ll have an ability like that. When he’s finally learned what he can do—what his trade will be—if there’s some _slim_ chance in the future... 

The sound of a clearing throat grabs Falco’s attention. Armin across the garden has _that_ smile—one which is small yet knowing. His eyes which house a livelier blue than Annie’s dart in her direction then his finger taps on his wristwatch. Falco thinks he understands the implication. He shares a meek side-smile before resuming tugging the weeds from his last flower patch.

He needs more time just like Gabi does, more time for the nightmares to ebb and rigid chips on shoulders to be smoothed like borders to lively seas. He is very young and patience is always the toughest villain to beat but Falco accepts it. His hand falls on his crown, where his brother once shoved a helmet over his head for protection.

_“Colt,”_ Falco thinks, _“You always looked after me, put yourself in danger to make sure I was safe and sound. I’m…I’m not strong like you…and I don’t know how, but I’ll do what I can to be a man who you could be proud of. Mom and Dad too.”_

  
  


The pre-teen shifts to Gabi who offers a fresh green apple to Annie, smiling as grass-stained hands hold it up. It’s a gesture which summons a side-smile from Ms. Leonha— _Annie._ Annie then rests her hand on top of Gabi’s head; that’s her tired way of saying thanks. The sound of rubber straining rings out from Falco’s fist clench, 

  
  


_“And no matter what’s decided later, even if Gabi and I drift apart in the future…I’ll make sure I’ll be strong enough to protect her so she doesn’t have to fight anymore.”_ Falco releases his determined hold. He examines his fingers which are still small, far too baby-like to be tough like a man’s.

Falco exhales. He lifts up the cap on his head, stares into the threads, then places it back on him, “Eventually, I guess…”


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie has no table manners around those she’s comfortable with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s face it, Annie’s a bad influence lmao.
> 
> Created for SNKTober Day 10 - Food :)

Gabi and Falco are a mirror reflection—they stare ahead, slack jawed and unblinking. While they’ve seen this before and it only happens after long days of hard work, it’s a stunning sight to witness.

Annie, who sits across the table, hovers over her plate where half a chicken, corn, and spinach reside. A chicken breast with deep bite marks and a giant chunk chomped out of the top is held in both Annie’s hands; the missing meat fills Annie’s cheeks as she chews quickly. She eats ravenously like she doesn’t see any of them. 

“I’d figure I’d go into town later tomorrow for a different soil,” Armin who sits next to her says. His fork taps against his lip in thought, “I’m not getting the results I wanted on the tomatoes or eggplants. I think I need a soil which retains the water more.”

After a large, loud swallow—her eyes fastened to her plate and food— Annie replies, “I need to go into the market early so you may as well just come with me, “Annie wipes her mouth off with the back of her hoodie’s sleeve. With one quick _chomp_ , Annie tugs another giant bite out of the chicken breast. Her cheeks are round spheres speckled with chicken skin which roll in a way Gabi almost finds hypnotic, “I promised the baker there that I’d give him that batch of the apple tarts I made earlier.” Annie performs one final swallow. Those eyes which put the spirit of fear in Gabi when angry stay parked on the table, “If he likes them, he said he might take me on for...training, I guess.”

“Ah, an apprenticeship!” How brightly Armin smiles motivates Gabi into joining him, “That’s great, Annie! Okay, while you do that, I’ll need to wait for the seed shop to open. Until then, I need to get more iron and some pliers and a vice for my workbench…” as Armin thinks out loud, Gabi observes his unconscious reflex—he picks up a napkin and carefully wipes some of the larger crumbs off Annie’s cheeks. Annie must also have a reflex—she swats his hand away after he’s gotten a few flecks of chicken skin off her. He smiles instead of frowns though Gabi expected he wouldn’t be mad, “Then after I get all that, my workshop will be ready.”

Annie gulps audibly, and Gabi shivers at the successive _snap-snap-crack_ of her tearing off a rib to get to the grilled, meaty underside, “Not really sure what you aim to do with it. There are perfectly good blacksmiths and artisans in town to go to.” 

“We’ve got the space and it’s a nice way to learn new things. Plus, my parents were blacksmiths. I remember some tricks they did. I’m sure I can pick it up.” Armin’s eyes blow-open wide. Realization straightens his posture, “Ah! I almost forgot! Mikasa is coming to visit soon! I need to get new bedsheets and towels too! Then I’ll need to get the guest room ready. Agh, there’s a lot to do...”

The snort Annie releases is short and sharp, “Let her sleep on the couch.”

“…Annie.”

“I know, _I know._ I didn’t mean it. I’ll play nice...if she does.”

Armin sighs and with it, Annie stops eating. Circles of daunting blizzard-blue rise up to land on Gabi and Falco. They jerk in place.

“What is it?” she asks, “You guys haven’t even touched your dinner yet.”

“Oh, um, right…” Gabi starts, “I-I was just waiting for it to cool off.”

“It was served to you five minutes ago. Just say you don’t like it. I’m not going to be offended.”

“I-It’s not that at all!” Falco frantically reassures her, “We had some snacks earlier because we were so tired. We’re just digesting a little still!”

Annie stares. Gabi is doubtful she believes them but those sharp, focused eyes are sealed away by closed eyelids—Annie shrugs. Their female guardian resumes eating and Armin extends to the children an appreciative smile. They all don’t feel the need to bring up how speedily Annie eats when she’s exhausted—it’s just how she always was ever since they first met. Gabi thinks back to her time at home, when she trained hard and lost all sense of manners. But mother and father smiled as she ate ravenously after another tough day in the warrior unit, spoke to her like nothing was out of place. Home was a place where she could relax and be herself. Ms. Annie should have that kind of comfort too. 

Gabi straightens her back. She lifts the chicken on her plate and bites out the largest chunk her mouth can hold. Falco blinks rapidly at first then parts his mouth in understanding; he follows Gabi’s lead, plucks up and chomps a hole out of the chicken breast. Surprise halts Annie’s chewing, glues her attention on the kids. She glances to Armin who keeps up his smile, unphased. He eats normally, doesn’t question what’s happening. Annie examines herself, notices how she’s been eating these past few minutes.

“...why are you two eating like that?” Annie asks, sounding stunned.

“I thunk eafink thus wey ifs quikur!(I think eating this way is quicker!)” is Gabi’s muffled response, “If bery guud bu fhe way! (It’s very good by the way!)”

“Mi fuu! (Me too!)” Falco backs Gabi up, a hand hovering over his full mouth, “Paff the speniff and qern pleafe. (Pass the spinach and corn please)”

With the slab of a chicken hanging from her mouth, Gabi hands Falco the bowls of cooked spinach and corn resting next to her. He plops large piles of green and yellow on his plate then serves Gabi too; the young girl’s nose scrunches upon sight at the spinach dropped on her dish. Armin has to resist the urge to chuckle—it’s always a fight to get Gabi to eat her greens.

Annie maintains her confusion. She shifts to Armin, “....do I really look that comical when I eat?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t mind. I think it’s cute.”

“I bet if I burped you wouldn’t say it was cute.” 

“I’d ask you to cover your mouth and say ‘excuse you’ but I’d find it funny mostly. And an excuse to burp myself.”

This woman he cares for swallows, sets down the ribcage of cleaned bones which once housed her cooked dinner.

Her regiment was strict while younger—at times, her body reacts like she has ten minutes to eat before training begins again. Training with the others had her learn some sense of shame and change her eating habits but Annie didn’t realize the comfort of having a home had her resort to old habits...

The fork and spoon at the side of her plate catches Annie’s eye. She exhales, minorly irritated, “I’ve always hated those things because it's slower than using my hands...”

Armin picks up his and her clean plate, “You don’t have to _,_ Annie.”

“Yes, I do, because of _that.”_

Armin follows the direction of her finger. Gabi shakes her head fervently as Falco attempts to spoon-feed her spinach. Both of their mouths are full, food flies out their mouths from muffled demands of “Fay avey! (Stay away!)” and “Meat et! (Eat it!)”; Gabi pushes up on Falco’s jaw which is encumbered with food as he attempts to jab the spoon full of spinach closer to her mouth. Armin’s lips twitch up—he likes it, to be honest. It reminds him of watching Mikasa...and Eren, back then.

“If _she’s_ coming, then I’ll have to stop or else I’ll get the evil-eye on how I’m not good enough for you and being a bad influence,” Annie jabs her fork so the end aims directly at Armin’s nose, “And don’t you start trying to validate how I am worth it or how _you_ aren’t worthy.”

Armin’s eyes fall—like she’s caught him before he can say anything. He’s quiet for some seconds until his sight rises again, “I hope you get the apprenticeship, Annie. I know you’re nervous, but with your dedication, I know you’ll do well.”

Her strict gaze relaxes. Annie sighs, picks up her fork as her other hand reaches for the spinach bowl by a fighting Falco and Gabi. 

“…I guess we’ll see tomorrow. And considering all your plans, it’ll be interesting to see what you make out of your workshop too.” 


	4. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin’s dreams are filled with nothing but nightmares and the bite of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been awhile since there's been an update here and I haven't injected a sad hours chapter yet :D Time to make up for that. 
> 
> Warning: Potential disturbing imagery

The air is musty, possesses a humid clinginess he can’t shrug off himself. Sirens blare so loudly, Armin’s brain bounces in his skull. He wants to eject from this puppet-master nest, but he can’t—his objective hasn’t been completed yet.

There’s a plupping noise from the boats sinking in the water nearby. A _c-c-crunch_ and the occasional _squelch_ are noises made in succession as his Titan advances. Gunfire and wails and condemnation wafts around every corner, adds to the whirring of the zeppelin which follows at his Colossal's posterior. 

There is no surface of this port which isn’t burned or burst open, no inch which doesn’t have the boat-sized oval of his Titan feet shoved into it. Muscle tendrils affixed to Armin’s eyes let him see everything he has done, what he’s chosen to do—his gut flip-flops like a fish deprived of air.

He has to get _out_ of here.

A long _psstttt_ of steam and unfurling of muscle creates an exit for Armin—he takes it, scrambles out onto the red-lined nape of his Titan. The difficulty is great—he’s _trying_ not to look—but the trap doors of guilt are falling on his shoulders, building in strength to pressure him to cave. The growing weight forces his eyes to peel open.

Rubble scalded by his transformation stretches out for miles. This landscape once teeming with civilians and soldiers is now an awful mix of dirt and mayhem and the bitter, copper smell of blood. Maybe he’s hypersensitive to his surroundings too—there’s a hoarse cough somewhere out there, a labored breathing violated with fear and leaving life. Armin glances down below.

A boy is beneath the rubble and he stares right at Armin. Armin’s eyes stay widened for so long, dryness settles in. This boy can’t be any older than he was when Wall Maria came down...

A flashflood of fire swoops along Armin’s body and he shouts in alarm. The ground quakes before the rubble shifts, churns against each other like ocean waves. Blown apart wood and brick rebuild, stack into houses where vines grow and rise in height until the town and walls he grew up within are rebirthed. And from this height, from his spot on his Titan’s shoulder with the steam billowing around him, Armin sees it.

Bertholdt is huddled in the Colossal’s nape, eyes glossy but expression determined. Armin sees himself at fifteen, flying in mid-air.

Steam is burning his flesh away and he’s choking, _dying_. Just like that boy down below is crying and fading, so many others have before him too. And maybe with what he’s done now…he hasn’t paid enough…it’s _still_ not enough.

  
Armin’s chest inflates and deflates rapidly. He tries to put his arm up to grapple to the zeppelin but he can’t budge. His temples throb with spike-sinking pain; he doesn’t know if he’s having a migraine or if this is one more suffering he must endure. All he knows is tornadoes of fire revolve around each of his limbs, scraping and eroding each layer of skin again. Armin shrivels into himself, shouts in agony and grief. His fingers meld together, his feet have become an indistinguishable block of flesh; everything singes and flakes and melts off him. 

Armin stumbles over his own gimped feet. He staggers, loses his footing—gravity pushes him back.

He falls.

He falls just like his fifteen-year-old self does across the way…fades away like the little boy does on the ground he falls toward. Armin opens his mouth to scream.   
  


_“Armin!”_

Gasping, Armin jolts awake. There’s a cold-sweat damping the young man’s clothes, a breeze over his eyes. His eyelids have been yanked open by forefingers and thumbs.

Annie has turned his face and stares him dead in the eye, the fence of her fingers stationed on his cheeks. 

“Nightmare,” she whispers softly. 

_Life_ is a nightmare and he’s so groggy and consumed with the shakes, he doesn’t know where he is. All Armin can decipher in this moment is his skin is dripping off in fire-hot droplets. Everything _burns_ , like fire-ants are marching on every centimeter of his skin, biting and burning and burrowing in to munch at his marrow. His breathing picks up, the sweat dampening his chest and neck gets worse. He frantically runs his hands over his arms and hair. Those _ants_ of fire won’t get _off_ him. The hands on his face jolt him minorly, as if to rattle him out of it.  
  


“Armin, it was a _nightmare._ You’re okay. Okay? It was just a dream.”

Armin groans, miserable. Annie tells him to breathe and the tired man listens, follows her lead to fill his chest completely before exhaling. Finally, the retired soldier squints, tries to assess the room.

This place _does_ look like home except it’s missing memories—pictures he does not have the heart to put up yet. The tear-dripping face of Bert’s Colossal settles before his eyes, how much it hurts, how much one wants to collapse into oneself and break. That boy’s face might as well be seared into his brain—Armin can see every wrinkle and tear he shed. Warm streams pour down Armin’s cheeks. He attempts to pull away except Annie’s steel grip has captured the sides of his face—she may as well be squishing him.

“ _Ow,”_ Armin complains, meek and tired, “Annie, that _hurts.”_

“I don’t care. You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t _want_ to be here…” her stubborn partner squirms, succeeds in worming out of her grip and shifts onto his opposite side to turn his back to her. She ropes her forearms around his back just as he starts to rise, anchors them around his pecs—his leg is the next to be trapped. They fall back, entangled with Armin grunting from struggling. His head ducks; he keeps attempting to get out but she knows _he_ knows it’s futile. 

“I was just going to go to the guest room, Annie…” he croaks, “I don’t want to keep bugging you.” 

“Then I’ve been bugging you for months now too. How many times has this happened to me and you were here?” 

The space in Armin’s head is too foggy to properly recall. All he can do is whisper, sounding deplorable and feeble as he always is, “I don’t want you to see me like this…”

Annie rubs her cheek against his clammy nape, “Stop acting like it’s illegal for you to cry, Armin. I’m the last person who could ever judge you for that,” she holds him so close, his torso bends forward a fraction, “I know it’s not easy…but just talk to me. I’m also trying to do better at that.”

Confliction clips his wincing, “…I’m sorry, Annie. I want to tell you but I don’t want to talk about it right now. My head hurts too much and I just feel…”

Feel _what,_ is what Annie wants to bite out—trapped, alone, scared? She wants to hop over his huddled form and force Armin to look at her, make him tell her which one it is and if it’s all three, he _will_ be okay so long as she’s here.

Annie sighs instead. She shouldn’t use force or be too rough—her only success will be in scaring him off. The small woman pulls back one hand and runs her fingers through the side of his hair, pets down the shaved surface of his undercut—the gesture prompts a deep, relieved hum from Armin, “Turn around, Armin. Please?”  
  
  


The whistle of the wind outside their window fills the mute pause. A half-hearted mumble is the first response she gets before the release of a long, chest-deflating sigh. He twists onto his side, his chin still kept to his chest so she can’t see. Annie doesn’t bother to bring his face up. She pulls him in, rests against her chest a head which is just as disturbed with vivid imagination and bone-shaking terror. A miserable noise is coughed into the space between her chest. His nose pokes her as Armin tucks his face deeper into her. Strong forearms wrap around her. 

Annie nurses the top of Armin’s head with quick, cotton-soft kisses. She moves to his temples, his forehead, and each peck leaves him feeling like he’s being shot with mind-fuzzing painkillers. Her fingers run along the back of his head, rotate in circles in the way she knows soothes him. One of his eyelids droops; the other follows soon after. But before the black sleep-wave engulfs him, memories flying as fast as shuffled cards zip through Armin’s brain.

Annie’s troubled face at the top of the staircase haunts him again; Annie pressing him for answers before their assault on the Yeagerists comes back; Annie…crying while on her hands and knees over their deviation from Liberio to Odiha shatters his heart.

His arms tighten on her so hard, Annie exhales from shock. She can’t see his face though she doesn’t need to—the entire region below her collarbone is damp and Armin’s shoulders are trembling. It’s frightening for Annie—he’s hanging on as if he’d fall off a cliff if he’s forced away. Like almost everything with Armin, it takes time for him to calm down. She’s having one of those nights where she can’t sleep anyway—it’s not like she had anything else planned but avoid waking Armin and stare into the wood of the ceiling, trying not to envision titan teeth and whizzing bullets moving above her. The wetness dripping onto her nightshirt slows then eventually stops. Her thumb rubs back and forth behind his ear until his chest pressed against her rises and falls, calm and steady—he’s finally asleep again.

Not soon after Armin falls asleep, a sliver of light shines across the room from the door to the wall. A small blond head pokes in.

Falco is there, visibly concerned—he must have heard Armin’s shouting from his bedroom down the hall. 

Annie waves a hand in motion to stop opening the door further. Falco halts. She puts her finger over her mouth then taps at her temple— _just another nightmare_ , she mutely speaks.

Falco’s mouth parts and he nods, understanding. He’s planted to his spot still and he turns to the point to the kitchen. 

_Water?_ he mouths silently.

The gesture inspires Annie to smile—Falco is too sweet a child to be under her faulty care. 

She sounds out _“No, thanks,”_ with a smile. Her eyes dart from the door to him—a signal to leave. 

Falco nods. As he turns and shuts the door, Annie catches him flash a thumbs up toward the staircase; Gabi must have come down, having heard Armin from her upstairs bedroom. 

Annie sighs, returns to consoling her woeful partner. She rests her cheek on his head, ensures he’s glued tightly against her. Having Armin so close sends this warm heat through her veins, frightens off those shadow creatures which slither closer when she’s alone and scared. Annie forgets all sense of time, sinks deeper into warmth, until eventually, sleep overtakes her too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always like to share my music which helps me write T__T 
> 
> [In The Distance - Tony Anderson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bw9j55bJtC8)


End file.
